


Sherlock's Apocalypse

by ThetaSigma



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, OR IS IT, The Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma
Summary: The apocalypse, Sherlock thought sourly, would come when just when John had left for Sussex to help his sister through rehab.Except no one else seemed to realize that the apocalypse was going on. All Sherlock's texts about it were met with puzzled replies, and the answer, when John finally returns to see what his boyfriend is on about, is hilariously simple.





	Sherlock's Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [almosttomorocco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almosttomorocco/gifts).



> Betaed by almosttomorocco

The apocalypse, Sherlock thought sourly, _would_ come just when John had left for Sussex to help Harry through rehab.

John had been gone for all of a day and a half, and Sherlock had been bored, bored, _bored_. (For all John insisted Sherlock barely noticed when John was or wasn’t there, Sherlock absolutely did. And without him, the flat was dull. London was dull).

The lights suddenly going out was most certainly _not_ dull. There wasn’t a storm going on outside, and Sherlock didn’t have anything going on that would overload the fuses.

Sherlock, heaving a great sigh of put-upon frustration, sat up and went to replace the fuses. Mrs Hudson would likely fuss when she returned from her cruise with Mr Chatterjee if she found that Sherlock had let the place go into total disrepair.

Fuses replaced, Sherlock tested the lights.

Still out. 

Sherlock tested the heat.

Also out.

Sherlock frowned and tested the water.

That flowed, but only cold.

Sherlock flopped on the couch and assumed his mind palace pose. _Think_. 

Power and gas had gone suddenly, middle of the day, on a bright, sunny day, no wind. No environmental cause for it. No explosions nearby to suggest a human cause. He frowned, trying to remember if there had been any mention of inconsequential things like ‘maintenance’ work, but surely that wouldn’t knock out gas _and_ power at once.

No. Clearly, all systems were failing at once. The water that was flowing was whatever was left in the pipes, and would dry up soon enough.

Systems failing at once meant a human problem, after all, but something _big_. The apocalypse. 

And John! John wasn’t here. John was somewhere _not safe_. (Anywhere not by Sherlock’s side was _not safe_ ).

Sherlock grabbed his phone. _When are you coming back – SH_

_When Harry’s more stable_

_Who cares about *stability* at a time like this? – SH_ Honestly. The man had no sense of priorities, sometimes.

Sherlock fired off another text to his brother. _What idiotic thing did you start this time, brother mine? – SH_

_I’m not even going to pretend to know what you’re talking about – MH_

_Clearly this is your doing, Mycroft. Fix it before John gets home, I’d hate for his travel to be impeded. – SH_

_For goodness’s sakes, it’s a minor skirmish in the Balkan region, you shouldn’t know about it, and it’s not affecting the traffic in London or in Sussex. Do calm down, your boyfriend will be returned to you unharmed. – MH_

Minor skirmish in the Balkan region. Right. Because _that’s_ what Sherlock was worried about. Clearly, everyone had lost their minds. … Zombies. It had to be zombies. Mycroft was already affected, that much was obvious. Well, a lifetime of following orders, no wonder Mycroft had been the first to go. John, though, John was a fighter. 

Sherlock resolved not to leave the flat until John got back. They could fight their way to safety after.

Or should Sherlock fight his way to John?

Water first. He had to fill as many empty containers as possible with water. Before that went away too. Luckily there were literally hundreds of containers around the flat, always useful for experiments. Some of them even passable for keeping potable water in.

Sherlock busied himself with his task and was grateful for the fireplace. He wouldn’t freeze, anyway. 

He ran down his list of emergency needs. Water was taken care of. Being taken care of. Funny, the water didn’t seem to be slowing down. He thought eventually he’d run out of what was in the pipes, but definitely not. Still, best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Heat. Fireplace, and he had a decent amount of wood. Duvet on the bed, John’s old duvet upstairs, various blankets around. His clothes, admittedly, were less about heat preservation and more about style, but John likely wouldn’t mind if he borrowed jumpers (Sherlock pulled a face at that, but he didn’t want to freeze to death. Even if it was April, the nights still could get a bit chilly). The Belstaff, of course, would keep him plenty warm.

Food. Ah. Hopefully John had done shopping before he had left. Sherlock left the water running, filling up the bathtub, and went to rummage in the kitchen. Well. The fridge was decently stocked, and not just with body parts, and there were various tins around. Okay. Could be stretched for weeks, if need be, and Sherlock never did eat much.

Weaponry. Sherlock had the Browning. Hopefully not John’s SIG, hopefully John had taken that with him. If John hadn’t, Sherlock definitely had to fight his way to John. If John _had_ , John was likely better off fighting his way to Sherlock. Right, ascertain if John was armed.

Security of flat. One main entry point – door to flat – and windows. First floor flat, bit of a climb, hard for a zombie to manage. Sherlock locked the windows anyway and barricaded the door to the flat. 

Sherlock reassessed. Food, water, shelter, heat. Missing _John_ , of course, but he’d get to work on that right away.

Sherlock finished collecting water in all available containers and texted John again. _Did you take your SIG? – SH_

_You mean, did I take my gun to go see my sister off to rehab?_

_Coat pocket? – SH_

_… Yes._

_Good. Don’t forget, aim for the head. – SH_

_I know how to shoot, Sherlock, I *was* trained by the Royal Army Medical Corps._

_It has to be the head, John. Anywhere else is a waste of a bullet – SH_

_Love, what are you talking about?_

_John. The head. Shoot the head. Tell me you know this – SH_

_Okay, Sherlock. I’ll shoot the head. Take care, yeah? I’ll call to check in. Please pick up. I know you prefer to text, but I wanna hear your voice._

_OK – SH_

Sherlock wanted to hear John’s voice too, make sure he wasn’t zombified.

Right. John was taken care of. Sherlock ran down his list of people he associated with (cared about, if he was being honest). Mycroft was clearly already a zombie. John was fine. Lestrade. Check on Lestrade.

_Gavin. Update? – SH_

_Christ, Sherlock, I still don’t have a case for you. I told you already, learn to live without John for a couple weeks. And it’s GREG_

That sounded irritatingly in-character for Lestrade. Oh. A police officer! He could be useful in keeping the flat safe. And unlike the rest of Scotland Yard, Lestrade was actually authorized to carry a gun, due to the cases Sherlock kept dragging him into (an authorization that was definitely done by Mycroft, but still).

_If you need a safe place to fight this out, I believe you would make a good ally. – SH_

_… I’m on a case, on which I do *not* need your help, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I suppose I should be touched you would consider me a good ally. Go bug John._

Sherlock frowned. How the hell did Lestrade not know?

Or was he being asked to _cover it up_? Was _that_ the case he was working? Interesting.

*** 

John’s phone chirped again. Harry made a face. “Can’t you tell your boyfriend to back off already?”

“No,” John said. “You weren’t any less clingy with Clara, were you?”

“And look where it got me.”

“You got there because of the drinking,” John said pointedly. “Not because you wanted to stay in touch. Hell, Clara got you a phone so you could stay in touch. And I’m gonna see what this is about.”

_Is the place you’re at now barricaded? – SH_

“Barricaded?” John muttered. He wondered what the _hell_ Sherlock was on about. He looked around. Sherlock must have a reason, he figured. _Uh, yes? It’s rehab, the doors are locked._

_They’ll have taken your gun, though – SH_

_I didn’t bring my gun into a rehab facility, Sherlock._

_No, I suppose not. Anything you can use as a weapon around you? – SH_

_I’m a doctor; this is a hospital of sorts. I can think of half a dozen things._

_Yes, but you’re not exactly fighting normal things now are you? – SH_

What the _hell?_

Just as John was shaking his head and considering putting his phone away again, it chirped. 

_Mate, what the hell is up with Sherlock? He just asked me to come ‘fight something out’ with him and that I’d be a ‘good ally’._

Text from Greg. Oh _hell_. John had a really, really bad idea where this is going.

“I’m making a call, I’ll be right back,” he told Harry.

“DI Lestrade,” Greg answered.

“Greg,” John said tightly. “Sherlock said _what_?”

“Yeah, I dunno. He texted me something about fighting it out and me being a good ally, and that’s the last I’ve heard from him. I checked with Mycroft, he said Sherlock texted him saying it was his fault and that your travel would be impeded. Mycroft was equally puzzled but figured Sherlock got word of some… _thing_ Mycroft had a hand in in some far-off country that we’re not allowed to know about, and assured Sherlock it wouldn’t actually impede traffic in London.”

“Okay, so Mycroft started a war somewhere?” John guessed. “When I met Mycroft the second time, Sherlock said to him, ‘Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does to the traffic.’”

“But then My said he hasn’t heard from Sherlock since. Why?”

“Greg, I’m getting the weirdest set of texts from Sherlock. ‘Did you bring your…’ er.”

“John, I know about your gun.”

“Okay, ‘Did you bring your SIG?’ ‘Aim for the head’ ‘It has to be a head shot, John’ ‘Are you barricaded’?”

“Shit. It sounds…”

“Yeah.”

“Like…”

“Drugs,” John finished. “Can you check on him, Greg? Please?”

“Not really,” Greg said apologetically. “I’m sorry, I’m not in London myself. I’ve been sent out of it on a case that’s simple enough – otherwise I would’ve called Sherlock in, honestly, because he texted me 57 times yesterday alone – just requires a lot of legwork. The newest alibi took me to Manchester and I’m still here talking to the ex-wife. Honestly, I should be getting back to that conversation.”

“Oh, shit, sorry, Greg. I… guess I’ll ask Mycroft?”

Greg sounded regretful. “That minor thing we’re not actually allowed to know about took My out of the country three days ago and he still isn’t back.”

“Well fuck. I’m on my way then.”

“What about Harry?”

“She’s checked in, and we’re already getting on each other’s nerves. And Sherlock comes first. I’ll let you know, Greg.”

John hung up and went to make his goodbyes to Harry, who had a _lot_ of uncomplimentary things to say, none of which John let her get away with.

_Sherlock. I’m on my way home. Don’t do anything stupid._

_Wasn’t planning on it. Come quick, be safe. – SH_

*** 

Sherlock was watching out the window for John, and as he saw John approach, he started undoing his barricade. John started up the stairs, reaching the top just as Sherlock managed to get the door open.

John entered the flat hesitantly and took a good look at his boyfriend. “You don’t _look_ high,” he said finally.

“I’m not,” Sherlock protested. “I’m _clean_ , John. I don’t even smoke.”

John raised an eyebrow at that.

“Okay, I don’t smoke much,” Sherlock amended. “Why would I be high? I can handle a couple days without you. Even in the apocalypse.”

John started laughing. “The _apocalypse_?” he asked. “Love, what made you think it’s the apocalypse?”

Sherlock looked offended. “It was _obvious_. I was sitting here when the lights went out. I replaced the fuses. The power continued to be out. The gas was also out. As there was no reason for either to be out, it had to be the result of the human order breaking down.”

John dropped onto the couch. “Sherlock. We went over this. You _had to pay the power and gas bill_. Remember?”

Sherlock squinted at him. “No?”

“Sherlock. I told you four times the week before I left. The power and gas bill were due the day I was leaving, and they needed to be paid. I don’t know why they turned them off so – oh. I forgot to pay them last month. We had that four-day case when they were due, I meant to pay it when we finally got home, then when I finally woke up, you were dragging me off to Edinburgh for a quadruple homicide and it slipped my mind. Sherlock, love, it’s not the apocalypse. The power and gas company turned it off because we didn’t pay the bills.”

Sherlock frowned at him. “There are no zombies?”

“No. No zombies. … Is _that_ why you kept texting me about headshots?”

“Yes. Duh.”

John laughed. “Sherlock, what did you do before I came into your life? Surely you didn’t have apocalypse scares regularly?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I’ve deleted the time before you.”

John didn’t quite tear up, but it was a close call. He stood and tugged Sherlock into a fierce kiss. “Bed,” he murmured against his boyfriend’s lips. “Right now. You, you utterly ridiculous man, have to ravish me _right this second_. And then I have to actually pay the bills. I don’t know how you managed without me all this time, love.”

“John?” Sherlock said. “I don’t know, either.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, John. Now, I was told to ravish you?”

“Oh, God, yes.”


End file.
